


winter’s calling

by Anonymous



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, F/M, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, Non-Explicit Sex, Sexual Harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 13:23:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19724533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: She always hated winter, but somehow, he gave her a reason to love it. || day 7, ShuAnn week.





	winter’s calling

**Author's Note:**

> written for day 7 of ShuAnn week, loosely based off one of the versions of the Japanese folktale, "tsuru no ongaeshi".

_It was the season when the setting sun set fire to the leaves when her life changed. The air was chocked with a frigid chill that forewarns a long winter. She bundled herself up tighter in her robes, listening quietly to the crunch of grass as she walked and walked, giving a promise to her best friend minutes earlier that she’d return shortly._

_The woods were not safe to wander at night._

_It had not been dark then, and she still had the time._

_..._

_Soon, the grass didn’t crunch to the beat of her shoes, but rather to the captured animal’s flailing body. Its wings smacked at the air, flopping uselessly against the ground in a fitful seizure as it tried to tug from the trap tightened around its leg._

_“H-Hey, easy! I’m not going to hurt you!”_

_Ann yelped in a mix of shock and pain at the sudden impact to her head, and suddenly she was looking up at the gray sky. Gingerly, she touched her head, already feeling the skin swelling with what would be an impressive-looking bruise._

_Perhaps the bird had felt sympathy for it ceased its movements, as if realizing it hurt the one thing trying to help it._

_She still hesitated, the trees and the bird swimming in her vision when she tried again. “I won’t hurt you,” she tried again. “I’m going to cut you free, okay?”_

_It watched her carefully._

* * *

Takamaki Ann sat through a session earlier that week, the letter sitting like a stone in her pocket. When the elderly artist with the graying hair calls for a break, she can only nod and push her way through the doors to the studio before the wet heat of tears burns her eyes. She tucks herself into the corner of the adjacent room.

Suzui Shiho’s writing has grown shakier and shakier.

 _“I’m sorry, Ann”_ , the letter says. “ _I wanted to meet you and your friend, but the doctor.”_ (There is an angry scrawl of black ink atop trembling words.) “ _There’s no easy way for me to tell you this. The medicine is too expensive.”_

It was the first time she walked out on her job. Consequences be damned.

Ann doesn’t know why she agreed to a housemate. Even when Amamiya Ren welcomes her home, immediately asking her what’s wrong when she can’t even answer, she just wants to be left alone. But she finds herself caving in when he asks her again, this time with a promise to back away if she so desired.

As she spills everything to Ren: the contents of the letter, how she left mid-session, the excessive price of medicine... she lets the tears fall, exclaims at the cruelty of the world and finds herself blaming everyone – the heavens, the doctors, Shiho – for not telling her the illness has progressed.

“Sorry,” she says, curled up on her bed, pillow wet against her cheek. “There’s nothing you can do. I’m just tired of...” _being helpless_.

Silence stretches between them, and she’s resigned herself to it. What could someone say with such a predicament? When his voice reaches over to her, she listens without looking at him and without moving.

“I can help. Let me use the loom in the storage.”

Ann quirks an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” she shifts to look at him, scrubs at her eyes with the heel of her palm. An exhale heaves itself out of her as the pieces slowly click together. “Ren, it’s... no matter how much you make, it’s too much. Just forget I said anything.”

“Let me try,” he says instead, and she takes his hand. His gaze holds little room for argument. “It’s the least I can do.”

* * *

_“I was wondering if I could stay here for a while.”_

_She did a double take, pressing her hands forward as if to push more distance between them. “W-Wait, that’s—”_

_“It would be until the snow stopped,” he paused. “If that’s alright.”_

_Ann shook her head. “No, you can’t! I-I mean, you don’t have anyone else?” at his blank stare, she knew the answer was obvious. “Like a friend or a family member?”_

_“I don’t have any family.”_

_A sliver of guilt wormed its way through her disbelief. “Oh...”_

_The wind from outside howled impatiently, and she gave him a second look. He was dressed in dark clothing, a worn cloak resting on his shoulders, hood pushed back. She had nothing to defend herself with had he just decided to pull a knife on her out of nowhere. Snow fell in sheets outside behind him, and so Ann did the one thing anyone would do._

_She wrenched the door shut and stumbled towards her bedroom. Yanking the drawer to her nightstand open, she withdrew the sheathed dagger. It was a memento from a lost parent. An ironic parting gift to defend herself in place of the father that was no longer there. With unsteady hands, she held it close before jamming it between her sock and boot. Her combat experience with weapons was nonexistent, but all she needed to do was give him a scare if he tried something funny... right?_

_The only time she used the knife was to free a trapped animal from a snare._

_When Ann returned to the door, she sighed heavily, counting to 5 in her head. She wouldn’t hesitate to plunge it in his neck if he refused to listen._

_Winter air and snow swept into the house as she flung the door open. “Fine,” she said, stepping aside. “There’s a guest room down the hall.” She lived here alone... she_ almost _says. “Just until the snow stops, right?”_

 _He nodded, and he seemed so sincere that she_ wanted _to believe him, but_... “ _Until the snow stops,” he echoed._

_Later, she stood on the other side of the room, bracelet of keys dangling from her wrist. She doesn’t know why she hesitated to lock his door that first night._

* * *

Her robes do little to combat the frigid air. She feels every prick and scrape of winter’s teeth through her clothes. Huddling against the side of the cloth merchant’s shop does little to warm her, but it is better than standing directly outside the entrance. She decided to accompany Ren that afternoon, canceling her modeling ‘appointment’ in favor for spending a day with him.

She was long overdue for a break anyway.

Fists jammed into the crook of her arms, her teeth clatter and she wonders why she isn’t waiting _inside_. But a little curtain flap for a door could hardly combat the cold or the heat. She supposes it doesn’t matter.

When her internal clock tells her to move just to do _something_ , she finds someone standing at the mouth of the alley. It’s not Ren, and it’s not the artist with a demand on his tongue for her lack of participation. There’s an alarm that goes off in her head, tells her this person cannot be trusted, and when he speaks, it’s like gravel, words ground together by a gruff voice and a tone that underlies something more sinister.

She sees the sprinkles of snow in his black hair. “What’re you doing back here all alone?” he asks innocently, advancing slowly as if she were some timid animal. In his eyes, maybe she was.

“I was just leaving,” she supplies, stepping away as he moves closer. The bite of the wall against her side does little to comfort her.

“Are you lost?” he presses. “You know, I could walk you home if you’d like.”

Ann shakes her head, heart beginning that stutter whenever her nerves were on fire. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

“Wait a minute,” and that very heart that stammered and sputtered lurches up into her throat when he snags her wrist. She feels the hard press of his nails through his leather gloves, or maybe it’s her imagination making this twice as worse than it already is. “I’ve seen you before… Yeah, you’re that girl Madarame likes to paint.”

Something in the way he said that made her blanch. Her teeth grind together, and she pulls back futilely, stomach twisting into knots when this man smirks at her struggling. “Let me go!” she demands sharply.

“Takamaki Ann, right?” he continues nonchalantly, pressing her closer to the wall. “They talk about you a lot, you know. I never thought I’d have the opportunity to meet her in person. Maybe you could do something for me too? I’ll pay well—”

Her fist pounds against his chest and she doesn’t have time to bask in the small spark of pride that ignites at the startled look on his face. Had he not expected her to fight back? “I’m not some cheap toy,” she spits. “Let _go_!”

The false demeanor flickers, crumbling until the disgusted glare is left in its wake. “Arrogant bitch... Do you know who I am?” his grip tightens as he pulls her closer, grasping her other wrist and they’re so close that his ale-stained breath smacks against her face. She doesn’t flinch and prays her growing fear doesn’t show. “So you’re telling me you’ll bend over for an old bastard like Madarame but not for me? I was going to give you coin for this, but if you’re going to be difficult—”

A hand clamps itself down on his shoulder. “Get your hands off her.”

They both look away from each other, to the person attached to the voice. She swallows, unable to pinpoint the exact feeling bubbling beneath Ren’s surface. Hard eyes despite the blankness of his face... he’s _never_ looked at anyone like that when they were together.

Her wrist is freed, and she hurries out of his reach, standing closer to Ren, who takes a step in front of her. _Shielding_ _me_ , she realizes, and she feels both safe and cautious all at once.

“The hell are you?” the man sneers. Then, mockingly, “Oh, I get it: She promised you a turn first.”

Ann trembles, but not in fear. Disgust. Rage. She very much would like to slap that arrogant smirk off this man’s face. The words burn her tongue, every slur and curse her mind can conjure prepared to slip and slam right into this bastard’s arrogant mug.

“Don’t get cocky,” he laughs, leaning forward. “If she’s not gonna spread her legs for Kamoshida, she’s certainly not gonna do it for some nobody like—”

The shriek that rips out of her is mostly from shock, and Kamoshida’s head is whipped to the side when Ren’s fist crashes into his cheek.

“You...” he glowers, blood specking his lips. “...piece of sh—”

“ _What’s going on over here_?”

Kamoshida freezes, and he stumbles back as the merchant from the adjacent store clambers into their line of sight. He curses, back pedaling before tearing down the alley. Ann watches until he rounds the corner.

She learns his full name – Kamoshida Suguru – and that he is a traveler who often frequented the village. The merchant is amused, stating that it’s the first time he’s seen anyone stand up to Kamoshida in all the times he’s visited. It isn’t until he leaves does Ren ask if she’s okay.

“Your hand...”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Ren, it’s _broken_!” she argues, pulling him gently but firmly. “How... How hard did you hit him?”

Back then, she thought little of the wariness that flickered to life in his eyes, behind his black-framed glasses. It wouldn’t be until later, more than a few coins at the local doctor’s, would she realize why his bones had been so brittle and weak.

* * *

_“Promise you’ll never watch me work,” he said one day, taking the bag she left by the storage room door. It’s full of spools of thread and other materials he went out of his way to buy while they were in town._

_Ann tilted her head to the side, frowning. “Okay... Why?”_

_“Just promise me,” he paused, teeth digging into his lower lip briefly. “Please.”_

_When he looked at her like that, she had a hard time protesting._

_So she nodded._

* * *

Ann has been holding this pose for an hour now, one leg crossed over the other, numb with sleep. Her head is turned, as if something has caught her eye, but all she sees is the wooden ceiling and the white walls. There is nothing special about this room.

She truly has come to hate it.

Sometimes she’d be here for an hour and other days she was here for eight. The artist at least had the courtesy to give her breaks in between sitting on the awkward stool well beyond its years. But she’d be lying to herself if she said she didn’t hate this ‘job’.

Ann smiles when she’s addressed, speaks politely when asked a question, or if she has something to ask in return. When she collects the weekly pay for ‘modeling’, a few pieces of gold coin that would cover a week and a half worth of meals, she gives a quiet ‘thank you’.

She does not like the way Madarame looks at her when he thinks she cannot see.

It isn’t until she gets home does she realize she no longer has to return to that awkward studio, posing semi-nude for a person who gave her the compensation depending on how pleasant she was that day.

There’s a bag of currency on the wooden table. She eyes it suspiciously. “What is this for?”

He adjusts his glasses. “I’ve been working too,” he admits, and whatever he’s about to say is cut off in his throat when she sees the white bandages wrapped tightly around his hands.

She holds his hand between hers and frowns. Not out of anger though. Never out of anger. Not for him. “You didn’t have to do anything, Ren...” Ann chides quietly. “I told you I could take care of us—”

“I’m alright,” he assures her, but he does not pull away. A part of her is glad, and she doesn’t know why. “Just... promise you won’t go back there. I don’t trust him.”

‘ _I don’t either_ ,’ her mind agrees. Ann traces a finger down his palm, heart tightening at the dark splotches. She utters an apology when he flinches. Just what _was_ this day job of his? What was causing him such suffering for _money_? For them?

( _For her?_ )

“There’s enough.”

Ann blinks. “Huh?”

Ren reaches for the pouch with his free hand, tugs at the strings. The sound of metal rings loudly in her ears as the coins spill across the countertop. With shaking fingers, he separates one, two, three from the pile. She counts at least 40 or 50 total and her chest constricts even more. Ann wants to believe it’s hope that strangles her veins and heart.

“Enough for...” her voice trails off.

He nods, ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

She throws her arms around him.

They would send the medicine with a letter to one Suzui Shiho who lived two villages away not so soon after.

* * *

_“You stopped locking the door,” he said one evening._

_The quill halted its stroll across the parchment. She looked up, sheepish and maybe a little guilty. “O-Oh, I guess I have,” she laughed lightly before slamming her eyes back to the letter. Her fingers twirled the end of her twin tail distractedly._

_“I don’t blame you, you know.”_

_She froze, willing herself to look at him. “You...” she swallowed. “You don’t?”_

_His smile was gentle, understanding. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”_

_...It was just as distracting as it was infectious._

_“Don’t be. I... It’s nice to have someone to come home to.”_

* * *

She brings him to her room on a night when the snow stops. He’s gentle and warm, and she feels safe as they discard one another’s clothing or when their lips touch and their hands roam each other’s bodies. He nips at her earlobe and neck delicately before he kisses her in a way only a lover could.

There’s the prickle of shyness when he hears her voice like this for the first time, but he says he loves everything about it – about her – and that she needn’t apologize.

The bandages were shed for that night, and she reminds herself in between the heat and taste of his skin that she needs to redo them tomorrow morning.

He moves inside her. She relishes in his gasps and soft noises when she rolls her hips in time with his. Her fingers find purchase on his back, feeling the way his spine dips and arches as she draws her nails down, her own limbs tightening. His touch pulls a cry from her that is not meant for anyone else.

When it’s over, they lay there for a while, panting against each other before he pulls her closer, their legs intertwined and tangled in the sheets.

“I love you,” Ann says breathlessly. She hears him make a startled noise in the back of his throat. Grinning, she pokes him lightly in the forehead. “Hey, I mean it.”

Ren chuckles tiredly. “I love you too.”

His heartbeat serves as the perfect lullaby.

* * *

_“What’s she like?”_

_She hummed. “Hm?”_

_“Suzui.”_

_“Oh!” Ann perked up instantly. “She’s...” hm. An interesting question. “She’s amazing. Shiho’s been my best friend since childhood so we kinda grew up together. We lived in the same village for a long time, but now we stay in touch through letters. Though when she gets better, I want to show her around. There’s a lot of things that she’d enjoy like the different markets and then there’s the festival that sometimes comes through here. Though I_ really _want her to meet you, and I think you guys would get along great—”_

_Ah._

_Her cheeks grew warm, and she laughed timidly. “Sorry, I kinda went off there, didn’t I?”_

_“Don’t apologize,” he said, the smile evident in his words. “You really care about her. Besides,” there was a teasing lilt to his voice, a matching glint in his eyes. “you’re cute when you get like this.”_

_“Of course I care about her, I— W-Wait, what did you say?” she’s pretty sure her face was red at this point._

_“I said ‘you’re cute when you get like this’.” he repeats with no shame._

_“G-Geez, you...” but she swatted his arm playfully, his laughter blending with hers. She smiled against his chest. “There’s someone else I care for too...”_

* * *

Miracles were only granted to a select few.

The letter is in neat handwriting, signed with Shiho’s family name, a generous thank you for the medicine.

In the end, Shiho did not suffer.

The stars cower that night, and she pretends to sleep when she thinks of the letter again, reciting the words in Shiho’s voice, and she rolls on her side. She couldn’t bring herself to tear it up and throw it in the trash. What good what that do? But she wishes she could rewind time, wished she had pushed herself harder instead of shying away from her ‘job’ because she was tired of the harassment.

‘ _We’re so sorry, Ann._ ’

‘ _We’re so sorry, Ann._ ’

‘ ** _We’re so sorry, Ann_** _._ ’

All her efforts, all _his_ efforts, were all for nothing.

She wants to laugh.

The noise that escapes her is the farthest thing from a laugh. It is a harsh sob that rattles her very body, and she crumples, curls towards herself, and she can only bury her head against Ren’s chest when he climbs into bed with her, holding her so, so tightly. He whispers he’s sorry (for her loss, for not working hard enough), that he loves her, that he’s sorry, he’s sorry...

‘ _It’s not your fault_ ,’ she wants to say.

But she only cries harder.

Somehow, through the agony tugging her heart and the stifled sobs from Ren, she falls asleep in his arms in a dreamless sleep.

* * *

_Ren slept the day she cleaned the storage room._

_She held little love for the loom he’s worked himself tirelessly on. It belonged to her mother, and one day, her mother would teach her how to weave the most beautiful silk that would sell for piles and piles of gold so strong it could pull them from poverty._

_A sudden trip into the belly of winter had torn that vow to shreds._

_She couldn’t bring herself to open the door for the longest time, hating the loom more and more, hating the empty promises and her parents, and hating herself for daring to think negative of them when they showered her with nothing but love._

_She hated winter, but somehow, she came to love it._

_What she sees here does not evoke that same feeling._

_Her breath hitched in her throat at the red streaked across the beams and the heddles. She touched it with careful fingers, some spots dry while others were fresh as the snow caking the windowsills. Silk, she realized, was wrung tightly around the cloth roller, split thinly along the warp. There was no blood on the silk, and she realized how careful he must have been to avoid soiling the merchandise._

_But along the treadles is a single black feather. With quivering fingers, she plucked it up, turned it in the light slanting through the window. It did little to answer any questions and filled her with more confusion. He didn’t hunt – neither of them did – and yet..._

_She can’t bear herself to stay in the room for long, retreating and closing the door as if she stumbled upon something not meant for her eyes._

_In a way, she had._

_Her hand touched Ren’s shoulder, and she contemplated shaking him awake, asking about the loom and the blood and why he was hurting himself just for money. She would offer to take up another job it if meant he’d stop._

_But she didn’t._

_Instead, she pressed her forehead to the back of his neck, breathing deeply, shakily. She would let him rest, yes... That was important._

_Sleep claimed her not so long after, the feather pressed tightly in her palm._

* * *

Shock paralyzes her as she stares through the door that sits ajar. She knows him, she knows Ren, but she also knows the bird she saved back in autumn. The white body, the black neck, the red spot on its head... the crane stops, down and feather slipping from the loom’s shuttle.

“You promised you wouldn’t look, Ann.” he turns, and she pulls her hands away from her mouth, pushing the door wider. Patches of feathers are missing revealing irritated skin beneath. His wings had received the brunt of his own inflicted damage. He is pitiful and nothing like the beautiful creature she cut free from a hunter’s trap.

“I...” her jaw tightens and the pressure of tears builds and builds. “I was cleaning and there was blood,” she answers truthfully. “I wanted to ask you earlier, but...”

He shields himself with his damaged wing, dissolving back into his human form. His eyes are trained to the ground as he grips his arms tightly.

The silence is deafening to her ears.

“Stop doing this,” Ann pleads, voice hushed. “Can’t you see how much you’re hurting yourself?” she doesn’t know what to say, if there _is_ something she can say. “I’ll work harder, I can work two jobs if—”

“Ann,” he stops her, but he doesn’t come closer, or embrace her. She doesn’t know why it stings so much. “I saw the feather.”

...The feather... the tiny memento she kept from her first trek into this very room. She fell asleep with it in her hand... Such a careless mistake, her mother would never—

“...You knew then.”

He nods, slowly. “I can’t stay.”

The words hit her like stones, cutting into her body. “What?” Ann gasps. She wants to whip her head away from his pained face, but she’s afraid if she looks away for even a second, he’ll disappear. “I don’t understand...!”

Ren says nothing.

“All because I broke a promise...?” _A stupid promise_? She doesn’t move, neither does he.

“I’m sorry.”

Anger snarls up inside her. “Then don’t go!” she protests, and it’s almost pathetic how childish she probably sounds. “Who says you have to leave?” Ann snatches his forearm when he tries to step towards the door. Desperation claws at her throat. “Ren...!” she digs her teeth into her lip, swallows the tears. “Just... tell me something.”

He looks at her, waiting.

She breaks eye contact and her grip loosens. “Was all of it real to you?”

“Ann—”

“Working yourself to death just for medicine for... _her,_ and for me? The night we spent together, or when you said...” _that you loved me_. “Please answer me and I’ll... I’ll let you go,” she bites back against a sob. “I just need to know if it was real for you too or if it was all... fake.”

Silence drips between them.

Her eyes slip shut and she waits. She doesn’t move at the familiar hands on her arms.

“No,” he says quietly. “don’t ever think that. But I can’t promise something won’t happen to you if I stay.”

Tears bead at the corner of her eyes. “Then why?” she whispers. He swims in her vision. “I lost my parents and Shiho... I can’t lose you too.”

“You won’t,” and he sounds so sure that she doesn’t know _how_.

“...What do you mean?”

Ren releases her, steps away. This time, she makes no move to stop him, but she does catch him looking back at her over his shoulder.

The door closes.

* * *

Fortune favors her after his departure, and a part of her wonders if it’s some leftover blessing that followers her a year later.

The days she spent modeling for Madarame are put to an end when a scandal comes to light. Something about plagiarism and abuse of students... She can’t bring herself to dig too deeply into it, not when she finds herself wanted by a group of people who promise her a wealthier house and better pay. She does not accept their offer blindly, making sure to gather as much information as she can before she commits herself.

Sometimes, when she sat alone in a house much grander than the one tucked in that small village, she would think back to days long gone.

It takes her a while to suffocate the hope that he will return.

But when she returns from visiting the grave with Shiho’s name, she feels it again. It’s childish, she thinks, and he isn’t coming back.

The winter wind calls impatiently from the other side. She opens the door and the black feather is swept from her hair.


End file.
